The welcome news was passed below to Nelson, and he came up to see for himself.
“That’s right,” he said. “They’ve dropped back a little, and I’m mighty glad of it. The fact is, we aren’t getting all our speed. There’s something wrong somewhere, and I guess it’s the gasoline. It was probably pretty poor stuff; full of water, I dare say.”
“But there’s no fear of the engine stopping, is there?” asked Bob. Nelson shook his head.
“Not likely; but she’s missing a spark now and then, and she may do worse than that. I don’t believe we’re doing better than ten and a half miles.”
“Well, if we can beat her at that,” said Dan, “what’s the use of worrying?”
Tom came up with a dish of pilot bread and a jar of marmalade, and there was an impromptu feast in the cockpit.
“How about the kid down there?” asked Dan. “Maybe he’s hungry, too.”
“That’s so,” exclaimed Nelson. “I’ll take some of this truck down to him.” When he returned he said: “Glad you thought of it, Dan; the poor duffer’s putting that pilot bread away as though he hadn’t seen a square meal in an age.”
“Maybe he hasn’t,” said Bob. “I don’t believe the grub’s very good at the captain’s table.”
“Much the fellow down there would know about the captain’s table,” scoffed Dan. “He probably ate in the forecastle.”